


Tonight is Ours

by charliechick117



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 09:05:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charliechick117/pseuds/charliechick117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Battle of Five Armies is finally over and Dwalin walks through the battlefield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight is Ours

**Author's Note:**

> Drabbles always hit hard when it's the wee hours of the morning and this image wouldn't let me go.

The battle left the feet of the mountain strewn with bodies.  Dwalin, son of Fudin, a legend in the making, stalked the battle field with painstaking reverence.  He looked on with pride at the number of orc and goblin bodies.  Despite his dislike of elves, they fought well in a tight corner, and Dwalin could accept that.  Yet the number of orcs and goblins and wolves was weak compared to their losses.  Dwalin looked over the fields of death, the bodies strewn around, and thought of Azanulbizar.

His people had suffered too much.

Balin, clutching his left arm, gave a grim nod as Dwalin passed by.  Oin was leading him gingerly up the mountain to the healing tents.

Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur were huddled around a small fire, their faces closed off.  They managed a small smile as Dwalin walked by.

Gloin was in a healing tent; unconscious.  Dwalin saw him fall, a goblin gnawing on his leg.  The elves there assured Dwalin that Gloin would live.

Dori was fussing over any who would stand still long enough.  There was no sign of either of his brothers.

From the corner of his eyes, Dwalin saw it.  A glimmer of gold.  He turned and saw a blond head, buried underneath orc bodies.  His heart stopped in his chest and goosebumps ran over his body.  Something thick was in his throat and his eyes were burnin.

He was running then, running through the pain in his legs.  He might have torn a tendon, but that mattered little to him.  He pushed and pulled bodies to the side until he freed the golden haired body.

Dwalin would recognize that face anywhere.  The slight smirk, the regal nose, the braids that the boy was always so proud to carry.

Fili, son of Dis, nephew to Thorin, was dead.

Beside him was his brother.  Together in life, together in death.

Feeling as though his chest was going to burst, Dwalin fell to his knees and cried.  These boys were his charge.  He helped raise them.  He taught them to fight.  He trained them, fought with them, watched them grow from childhood.  He was supposed to  _protect_ these boys.  It was his job to keep them safe, alive, happy.  He cried out.  Tears fell, thick and fast, and he thought his throat would give out from all the screaming.

He clutched the boys to his chest.  Too young, too inexperienced, they passed.  Fili would never fill the halls with his smile.  He would never truly be the heir of Erebor.  Kili would never get the chance to flirt with the kitchen maids and be late to every royal dinner.  They would never get the chance to pull their pranks in the halls of their forefathers.

Dimly, Dwalin was aware that the boys were taken from him.  He heard the news that Thorin was alive, but not for much longer.  Thorin, on his deathbed, asking for his nephews.  Dwalin, forced to sit in a healers tent and wait, clenched his fist.

He should have been there.  He had been with Thorin since they were children.  Why wasn't he there when it mattered most?

Dori paced the healers tent, clicking his tongue every so often.  He looked out the tent flap and the worry lines on his forehead grew deeper with every glance.

"They aren't here," Dori offered for explanation.  "Nori and Ori."

"I'm sure they're fine," Dwalin mumbled.

"You can't know that," Dori snapped, turning to Dwalin.  "Fili and Kili are dead!  If they, with all their training and skill, could fall, then why couldn't my brothers?  Thorin Oakenshield himself is dying!  What hope does my little Ori have of surviving?"

Dwalin stood up, ignoring the protests of the healers in the tent.

"I will find them," Dwalin said.  "I will not return until I've found them."

Dwalin pushed his way out of the tent, ignoring the frantic shouts from behind him.  The sun was just beginning to set, the sky a dusky red and shadows long across the ground.  He grabbed a torch and made his way across the field.

Their company was already down two (three) members.  Dwalin would sooner die himself than let the number drop again.

He didn't know how long he searched.  His vision grew fuzzy and he tripped over limbs and dropped weapons.  A chill came over him with the setting of the sun, yet still he looked.  The longer he looked the more worried he became.

What if he never found them?  Worse, what if they were dead?  Dwalin could perhaps live on with Nori's death.  The thief had become a close friend, but Dwalin could mourn and move on.  Nori's death was meaningless compared to that of Thorin.

Yet Ori.

Dwalin shuddered to think of the various circumstances where he would find the little scribe.  Would he be dead?  An arrow in the chest.  Decapitation.  The visions grew worse as the night deepened.  To think of Ori, sweet Ori, white and cold on a battlefield, ached inside Dwalin.  The idea that Ori would never be there with his little book, that he would never have the little smile on his face, opened up a chasm inside Dwalin.

"Oi!" a voice shouted.  "Who's there?!"

Dwalin turned to the voice, lifting his torch higher.  Stepping into the little circle of light, was Nori.  His hair was frazzled, there was a cut on his cheek, and he limped, but Nori was there and very much alive.

"Mahal, it's good to see you," Dwalin pulled Nori in for a tight hug.  "Your brother's been worried sick."

"Ori?" Nori's eyes pleaded.

"No," Dwalin looked down.

"Is he...?" Nori couldn't dare finish the sentence.

"We don't know," Dwalin said.  "I'm looking though.  You head to the tents.  Your leg looks bad."

Dwalin turned to continue his search when Nori's hand grabbed his arm.  Thin, spindly, thieving fingers, held him tight.

"Find him," Nori said, eyes like silver.  "Find him, save him, protect him."

Dwalin nodded.  He thought he'd been discreet.  He hadn't stared at Ori.  He hadn't made unnecessary conversation.  He treated Ori the same as any other.  Perhaps Nori, with his quick eyes, noticed how Dwalin gravitated towards Ori during battle.  Perhaps Nori saw the tenderness in those stolen glances.

It didn't matter.  There was a time and place to consider courting and this was not that time.  There were the funerals to plan and the kingdom to rebuild.  Dwalin needed to mourn the deaths of the princes, to deliver the news of their death to Dis.

Priorities.

Yet his thoughts continued to stray to Ori.  Among the dark thoughts of finding a broken body, he created a scenario where Ori lived.  A scenario where Ori felt the same and they could court each other in the restored kingdom.  He thought of days in the library, Ori eagerly reading from ancient texts.  He thought of afternoons where he could finally train Ori to fight.  He thought of evenings spent together in darkened bedchambers.

His torch had run out and he abandoned it.  The moon, barely full, rose high into the sky and bathed the battlefield with blue light.

Each step was agony.  Dwalin's feet dragged across the dirt.  He could barely keep his eyes open.  He was so exhausted.  Ori, though.  He had to find Ori.  He kept walking.  One step in front of the other.

At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.  He stopped, swaying on the spot.  In the distance was a small shadow, moving towards him.  Dwalin hardly dare let himself hope.  It could be anyone, elf, man or dwarf.  What proof did he have that it was Ori?

"Dwalin?" the small shadow called out, waving arms over head.  "Dwalin!"

There is no way Dwalin could mistake that voice.  It was rough from the battle, but he recognized it.

His chest was on fire and he ran, Ori's name on his lips.  All exhaustion forgotten, Dwalin ran.  He felt so light he thought he could fly.  That small shadow, Ori, ran towards him, knitted scarf flying behind him.  Closer and closer they ran until Dwalin could see the brown hair and mussy braids.  Relief tore through his chest as Ori launched himself towards Dwalin.  He could do nothing but catch the scribe and hold him as tight as he could.

"Oh Dwalin!" Ori was crying.  "I meant to stay by Nori but something hit my head and I must've been knocked unconscious and when I woke up the battle was over and there was no one around.  I thought for certain I was forgotten!" _  
_

"No, no, no," Dwalin whispered into Ori's hair.  "I could never forget you."

Ori pulled back from the embrace, only to pull Dwalin down for a searing kiss.

"I thought if I had enough courage to fight in a battle of five armies," Ori whispered against his lips, "then I had more than enough courage for that."

Dwalin couldn't help but laugh and kiss Ori lightly.

"Your brother is waiting," he said.  "So is the rest of the company."

"Excellent," Ori smiled, pulling Dwalin to the tents as if he hadn't been lost for the better part of a day.  "I borrowed a knife from Fili and I'm certain he'll want it back."

Dwalin's face fell.  Ori must have noticed for he stopped, tucking himself at Dwalin's side.

"Dwalin?" Ori asked.  "What happened?"

"Fili," Dwalin said.  "He and-he and Kili th-they-"

He couldn't say it.  Dwalin had held their lifeless bodies but couldn't speak the words.  Perhaps the words made it real.  Perhaps he wanted to spare Ori the pain.

"They didn't make it," Ori guessed, burying face in Dwalin's chest.

Dwalin shook his head and put his arms around Ori.  The boys were Ori's friends on the quest.

"Come along then," Dwalin said.  "Your brothers are still going to want to see you."

Ori nodded and, arms around each other, they walked back to the healing tents.  Dori fussed over Ori like the mother hen he was.  Nori gave a curt nod to Dwalin.  Dori deemed Ori healthy, wrapping him in blankets and forcing him on the bed.  Dwalin, without asking permission, fell behind Ori, pulling Ori to his chest.  Dori spluttered and Nori pulled him out.

"Do you have a quill?" Ori asked.

"What for?"

"I want to start writing the eulogy for Fili and Kili."

"That can wait until morning," Dwalin tucked Ori under his chin.  "Tonight is ours."


End file.
